


221B

by ladymac111



Series: Miss Holmes [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221 b drabbles, Angst, Domestic, Fluff, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-11-26 23:04:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymac111/pseuds/ladymac111
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of 221B drabbles in Alexa's universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter ratings vary.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PWP, first person, explicit.

Sherlock's legs wrapped around my waist as I began to move inside him, and I groaned aloud. God, did he know what he did to me, in this position? To feel him around me and see his face, his gorgeous face, making that deadly sexy expression ...

I thrust harder, my movements becoming sloppy as my higher brain functions started to go hazy around the edges and my reptile brain took over. Beneath me, Sherlock moaned again, loudly, wantonly, his plump, kissable lips falling open as his eyes drifted shut in ecstasy. His hand closed around mine, making me jerk his prick roughly, out of synch with my own movements. Or maybe it was some complex polyrhythm, I wouldn't have known even if I had any brain power left to devote to forgotten music theory.

Sherlock's pelvic floor began to clench around me, and he cried out as he came, spilling hotly over our clasped hands and his own belly. The motion of my hips became desperate, and with a few more quick, shallow thrusts my own orgasm engulfed me in white-hot light.

I came to, moments (hours?) later, with my head buried in the crook of his neck and both his arms around my shoulders. “You,” he breathed.

“Me what?” I could barely speak, I was so spent.

“You are beautiful.”


	2. Brilliant!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Alexa wait for Sherlock to come home.
> 
> Fluff, PG.

John dropped the grocery bags on the kitchen table – which was miraculously clear – and looked around the flat. “Where's your father?”

Alexa looked up from her knitting. “Bart's morgue. Said he wouldn't be too late.”

John sighed and began putting away the groceries. “You suppose he'll be home to have dinner with us?”

“Not sure. But I could text Molly and ask her to kick him out.”

“You really think Molly has the balls to stand up to him? Oh – god, sorry!”

Alexa smirked. “It's fine, Papa. And just because she lets him get away with murder doesn't mean he owns her. She can stand up to him. If she wants to.”

“And I suppose you can influence her to do that, eh?”

“You make it sound like she's brainwashed. She just really likes Dad.”

John snorted. “Should I be worried?”

“You know he only has eyes for you. “

John closed the fridge. “Anyway, I was thinking of making pasta for dinner. Sound good?”

“Sure. Should I have Dad come home?”

“Yeah, I think it would be nice to all eat together.”

She sent the text as John came into the sitting room and picked up the remote to unmute the television.

“Anything good on, while we wait?”

“Vicar of Dibley.”

John dropped into his chair and grinned at Alexa. “Brilliant!”


	3. Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A scene between Sherlock and Alexa.
> 
> Angst, PG.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Amy.

A soft noise reached Sherlock's ear, and his bow paused. The sound came again, and he set the violin down before gliding soundlessly to the foot of the stairs that led up to Alexa's room. On the way he checked his watch: nearly one in the morning.

He glanced back at the violin – yes, the mute was on. Surely he hadn't awakened her? John would have told him if his playing was too loud -- except, no, John was away, at a conference in Dublin.

He started up the stairs, and tensed when he heard her muffled sounds of distress. Sherlock set his foot in the centre of the creaky stair to announce his approach.

He reached her door and knocked gently before pushing it slightly open. “Alexa, it's me.”

She sniffled wetly, and her voice broke when she spoke. “I'm fine, Dad.”

“You're obviously not. May I come in?”

A few shuddering breaths, then: “Okay.”

He moved across the darkened room to her side. “What's wrong?”

She took a couple of deep breaths, then gave up control and began crying freely. “I-- I miss Mum,” she sobbed.

Sherlock felt a twisting sensation in his chest. He set a hand on her shoulder in a way that he hoped was comforting, and came to rest heavily on the edge of her bed.

 


	4. Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst, G.
> 
> Immediately follows "Bed".

John reached the top of the stairs, and grinned at Sherlock, who was sitting on the couch. “Hello, I'm back!” He detoured to their bedroom and dropped off his bag before it occurred to him that something was odd. He went back into the sitting room, where Sherlock was still staring at the photo album in his lap.

“What's that?”

Sherlock started and glanced up at him. “Oh. Just. Photos from Rachel.”

John sat beside him. It was open to pictures of Alexa as a toddler, playing with a doll that was nearly as large as she was. “Feeling sentimental?”

Sherlock scoffed, but the sound was hollow. “Alexa, um. She had a bit of a rough spot, last night. I heard her crying so I went up, and she said she missed her mum.”

John peered at him. “Have you been up all night? You look dreadful.”

"I couldn't sleep." Sherlock rubbed his face and leaned back. “God, John, what do I do? She's hurting and I don't know how to stop it.”

“You can't stop it, love.”

“There must be a way--”

“No, listen, there isn't. Nothing can stop it from hurting. But you love her, and you were there for her. That's what matters.” He laid a hand on Sherlock's knee. “All right?”

Sherlock nodded and exhaled slowly. “Better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little illustration: http://ladymac111.tumblr.com/post/45487052890/what-do-i-do-john-mostly-i-wanted-to-draw
> 
> Minor edits on 15 Jan 2015


	5. Bow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's John's birthday, and the Holmeses teamed up to get him a present.
> 
> Fluff, G.

“Happy birthday, Papa!”

John rubbed his eyes blearily as he shuffled into the kitchen, and accepted Alexa's kiss and a mug of tea. “Thanks, love.” He took a drink and looked around. “Where's your dad?”

“Out. He'll be back soon.”

“Fair enough.”

“In the meantime, you can open the present I got you. Sit down and I'll make you some toast too.”

He took a seat at the table, and she disappeared into the sitting room for a moment before returning with a small package in brightly-coloured paper, roughly cubical and about three inches on the longest side. “What is it?”

“Open it, silly.” She put bread into the toaster.

John pulled at a corner of the paper, and as it came open three black boxes spilled onto the table. His heart pounded oddly as he picked one up, and the vague familiarity solidified when he read the words _Vandoren_ and _clarinet_. “You got me reeds.”

“Yeah, I didn't know which hardness you need so I got three different ones.”

“But I don't have a clarinet. I haven't played in … well, at least a decade.”

The door to the street opened and closed, and they both glanced toward the stairs. John was staring open-mouthed when Sherlock appeared and, grinning, held up a black leather case sporting a festive bow.


	6. Blush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baker Street celebrates Rosh Hashanah
> 
> Fluff, G

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm a few days late for the start of Rosh Hashanah this year. Whoops! But in 2016 (when this is set) it's in October.

John let himself in from the crisp October evening to the smell of freshly-baked bread. For a moment he considered knocking on Mrs Hudson's door, but then he remembered she was away visiting her sister. Which could only mean that ...

He took the stairs two at a time. Sure enough, the aroma came from 221B, and his husband and daughter both looked up when he entered the kitchen.

“L'shanah tovah!” Alexa said, dropping a ball of dough back on the table before coming around to hug him. Sherlock paused in slicing apples and merely grinned at them.

“Sorry, what?”

“The sun set, Papa, it's Erev Rosh Hashanah.”

“Jewish new year,” Sherlock explained. “Happy 5777. Alexa's trying an old family recipe for challah.”

“Yeah, I smelled it when I came in.”

Alexa looked sadly at the lumpy loaf cooling on the counter. “The first one didn't turn out very well. It's supposed to be round.”

“I'm sure it will taste good, no matter what shape it is.” He turned to Sherlock. “And the apples?”

“With honey.” He dipped one and held it out to John, who took the whole thing in one large awkward bite. “For a sweet year to come.” His thumb caught a drip of honey on John's chin, and he licked it off suggestively. John tried not to blush.


End file.
